Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
SADIE
My hands are shaking as I yank open the door to the lodge.
People talk.
Fuck him and fuck whatever weird thing I thought was between us.
I struggle to take in a deep breath, my eyes bouncing from face to face until they finally find Lane sitting up at the bar talking to Lydia, one elbow propped casually against the counter.
My heart is still pounding as I slip into the open seat beside him, the weight of Wesley’s words pressing against my ribs.
He looks up and smiles. That easy, devastating smile that feels like it’s reserved just for me.
“Hey, you.” His breath brushes my ear as he reaches past me for the bowl of nuts.
“Hey yourself.” My voice comes out softer than I intend, a smile pulling at my mouth. I silently hope it distracts him from the way my hands still tremble in my lap.
Lydia bounces over with her notepad.
“How come you never smile at me like that?” she teases.
I stick out my tongue and she flips me off without missing a beat.
“I’m gonna tell Heath you’re harassing guests,” I warn with a grin.
She scoffs. “But you are not a guest. You’re part of the staff, sweetheart.”
I roll my eyes. “Semantics.”
Lane and I both order the breakfast plate—because of course he loves breakfast food as much as I do. It’s nice to have someone who understands my love for the most superior meal of the day.
I like how things with him feel so easy and uncomplicated.
Not that I have Lane. But I’m trying really hard not to overthink all of this for once.
We hang out and sometimes we kiss. I like being around him and we’re having fun. That’s all that matters.
Our pace is slow and unhurried as he walks me back, like we’re both trying to make the moment last as long as we possibly can. Our shoulders brush once, then twice—pretending it’s accidental when we both know it’s not.
“So…” he says, kicking at a rock. “Do you have plans tonight?”
I glance up at him. His hands are buried in his pockets, gaze fixed on the ground. The muscles in his jaw tick like he’s holding something back.
He’s usually confident, a little cocky even, but right now? Something’s off. His eyes flick to me before settling on the ground again.
Is he nervous?
“Nope,” I say. “No plans.”
Lydia texted me earlier asking if we were going to Lucky’s tonight. We. As in me and Lane.
I told her I wasn’t sure what our plans were. And even thinking that—our—sent my brain into a spiral.
Because are we even a we?
I pause outside of the breezeway as a few summer guys pass us hauling hay.
Lane nods at them, casual, but I can still see the tension set in his shoulders and it makes me nervous. I tug at the hem of my shirt, waiting.
Finally, he turns toward me, eyes bright beneath the brim of his Longhorns hat.
“Good,” he says, clearing his throat. “Because I want to take you out tonight.”
I blink. “What?”
“On a date,” he says, grinning.
“A date?” I echo, because apparently, I’ve lost all ability to form thoughts.
“Yeah,” he says. “Only if you want to, of course.”
My heart stutters. Is this what it feels like? To be chosen?
“I’d love to,” I breathe, leaning closer without meaning to, smiling up at him.
It would be criminally insane to turn down a guy this sweet and good-looking.
He glances over his shoulder, subtle and quick, then he steps forward. His hands slide to my face before he pulls me in and presses his lips to mine.
It’s a slow kiss, soft and tentative, until he deepens it. My fingers curl into his sides to anchor myself to him.
When he pulls away, his hands linger longer than they should, his thumbs rubbing gently along my jaw. A promise and a warning all at once.
Then he tips his hat and walks away, leaving me standing alone in the sun—heart racing, lips tingling, dazed and smiling like a complete and total fool.
Feeling exceptionally foolish because I can’t stop replaying what happened outside the lodge with Wesley.
It didn’t hurt because it was new. It hurt because it wasn’t.
Ever since that night at Lucky’s, Lane and I have been finding every possible excuse to touch—brushing hands, lingering too close, stolen kisses, and bumping shoulders.
He’s come by while I’m working to “grab something,” but we both know it’s just another excuse.
He’s invited me to come hang out in the bunkhouse after work a few times. It’s really casual. The guys usually just sit around the table playing cards and drinking bourbon—which I hate—so I stick to water or Lane’s sweet tea.
Lane doesn’t ever drink, either.
Not once.
Sometimes, I feel like I’m invading their man space when I’m there.
Lydia lives in the bunkhouse too, but other than her, there are no other girls around—not like that.
Occasionally, some of the guys from the summer crew—whose names I never remember—will sneak away with a girl they’ve been fooling around with tucked under their arm.
But that’s not how it is with Lane.
I’ve thought about inviting him to my room more than once. Usually late at night when the world is quiet and I can still taste his mouth on mine.
But I can’t bring myself to do it.
Not to mention how wrong and disrespectful that would be to Heath. Even though I’m not officially an employee, I think the rule still technically applies, and it would be even worse to break it under his roof.
Heath’s done so much for me, and I hate the thought of disappointing him.
And yet every time Lane’s fingers brush mine, every time his gaze lingers on me with soft eyes, I feel the threads of temptation pull tighter. But wanting Lane isn’t the same as wanting him, and I can’t force myself to pretend it is.
I don’t want to be a dirty little secret, but I’m afraid that if I say something, it would ruin everything. The bubble of bliss would burst and it would all come crashing down. Like it always does.
I have a date.
I’m perched on the bathroom vanity, legs crossed and feet in the sink while applying mascara.
Because I’m going on a date!
A boy asked me out on a date. Well—a man. Lane Hartford is very much a man. A ridiculously handsome man who also happens to be a cowboy asked me on a date, and somehow, I said yes.
I still can’t believe it.
Wesley definitely didn’t believe it.
I probably shouldn’t have said anything, but I just wanted him to back off. I was still a little pissed off from earlier—the way he looked at me—and the words slipped out before I could stop them.
He went completely still, and I knew then I’d crossed a line.
Not only because dating is explicitly forbidden, but because as much as he tries to lie and pretend otherwise, he cares.
And maybe that’s the part that fucks with my head the most.
This place is changing me. Not in the way I expected, but in the way I think I needed.
In a way that feels good.
I’ve been here almost a month, and I feel like I’m slowly starting to peel off the layers of who I used to be.
The things that used to keep me up at night—obsessing over every little detail, replaying conversations in my head, and wondering what people thought—don’t matter as much anymore.
I still haven’t heard from anyone.
A few weeks ago, that silence would’ve swallowed me whole. I would’ve picked apart every moment, searching desperately to figure out what I did wrong, the reason I wasn’t enough.
But now? I just…don’t care.
I don’t even want Kolson anymore. I’m not sure I ever really did. I think I liked the idea of being Kolson Kennedy’s girlfriend more than actually being with him. I liked the attention, the approval. But the reality is that he never really cared—about me, at least.
Tori’s silence doesn’t surprise me. She’s always been all in or all out—no in-between.
But Mia’s hurts. I know she’s busy on her press tour, but part of me wishes she’d still make the effort and check in.
I’ve decided to stop expecting Wesley to be anything other than who he is. I think it should help make things between us easier. Make it easier to breathe around him. Easier not to care. Well, maybe not easier, just…manageable.
He still knows how to push my buttons and make things difficult, but I’m done letting it ruin my whole day like it used to.
Still, things between us are weird. And maybe they always will be.
The other night, I was curled up on the couch with Lane, my legs draped across his lap while the guys argued over poker. His thumb drew circles on my knee beneath the blanket—tiny, rhythmic, almost hypnotic. A secret that made my skin prickle, an easy distraction from my thoughts.
Then the door creaked open.
Wesley stepped inside, and the air shifted instantly around his presence.
He didn’t say anything—just crossed through the living room to the fridge, grabbed a beer, and leaned against the counter with his usual silent and unreadable expression. But I could feel his gaze burning into me.
The conversation dipped, even the laughter softened, but Lane didn’t pull his hand away and the pressure in my chest only heightened.
Wesley and I didn’t talk about it. Just like we haven’t talked about any of it. And now too much time has passed—it would be weird to bring it up, but the tension hasn’t vanished entirely. It’s only sunk deeper, humming softly beneath the surface instead of screaming.
Maybe that means we’re finally moving on—or trying to, at least. Pretending and avoiding until it eventually fades into nothing.
It’s strange—I always thought I’d need an official label in a relationship before I could take things to the next level. I wasn’t ready to give all of myself to Kolson, but I thought if I did, he would finally choose me. Claim me. Let me be the girl on his arm.
I know, I was so naive and stupid. But this is different.
Lane is different.
Since that night in his truck, I’ve been the one pressing forward—asking for more, finding reasons to be alone with him, sneaking down hallways and into rooms I shouldn’t be in. Letting my hands wander a little farther each time we’re alone, chasing the feeling before it can slip away.